And the Crimes They Get Away With
by spheeris1
Summary: Sequel to 'Criminals' :: AU :: One-shot :: Shifting POV's :: Super light smut :: Spencer loves being in charge. Ashley decides she likes being told what to do.


**Since I don't want to die, this is for The Flannel Club. **

/

They all know her face here. They know when to kiss her ass and when to keep back.  
But they eye Ashley up with equal parts suspicion and interest.

Is this a new partner?  
Is this a new contact?  
Is this an escort? Is this a bit of rough for the night?

Ashley doesn't necessarily look like a paid girl.  
Boots a little damaged. Jeans a little frayed. Jacket zipped up and a little beaten down.  
But it's the face that makes all those high-prices seem possible.  
Ashley has the face of a model.  
And that's why she is so good at what she does - she looks like a wet dream on a magazine cover, not at all like a girl who gets off on embers.

And the bar has Spencer's drink at the ready, like always.  
No questions asked.  
And she likes it that way.

Power is much more intoxicating than alcohol, after all.

/ / / /

"Consider this one on me. For a job well done."

Ashley smiles like this is an invitation after years of sitting on the front step and so she tells the bartender to surprise her.

Because she likes this type of surprise - a drink with that woman she just cannot stop pondering, with eyes the color of wicked dreams, standing tall and still looking relaxed in this place full of lackeys and underworld groupies.

It's not that shit-hole that holds her bottles of beer, fat men and old men and one bad girl.  
It's not that shot of Jack, the kind that races in her veins as she shuts the door to her apartment, slipping into the darkness when another job calls.

It's the other side of this penny.

And they sip instead of talk.  
And they stare instead of look away.

Ashley catches the flicker, though.  
Catches that first whiff of stone against stone, sticks moving fast, catches that tell-tell scent of a blaze to be.

Spencer's got a lesson to teach and Ashley has got a lot to learn.

/ / /

When you do it, when you finally break the rules and touch somone... Nothing remains the same, does it?  
You are changed by desire.  
And desire is born of you in turn.

Spencer's never left a room like a john.  
No dollar bills on the table. No cards palmed and into her pockets.  
And Spencer doesn't put much faith in love either.  
No hearts drawn on the notebook. No notes passed around, check yes or no.

There it is again, you see, control is her passion and power is her lust.

So, when Spencer does it, when she flashes her white smile and steps in close and overshadows the entire world around a girl - it tends to work as well as the business she runs.

Smooth. Easy. Absolutely fucking charmed.

/ /

The beds you've busted. The floors you've stained. The good lovers you've thrown away.  
You've not been handed a fairy-tale, but you are proficient at turning lemons into lemonade.

Ashley isn't one to kiss and then spread it around.  
Lips are meant for a lot of things and keeping them sealed is the name of the game.  
And Ashley isn't the kind to keep one hand tied behind her back either.  
Sweat is the same on all skin. Sex is the same on any street. Want carries many names.

But even if the intent is familiar, the pitch is different.  
She's been used to sliding up and having her way. She's been used to a mad-cap grin being the only thing she leaves behind. Sheets a mess and muscles sore, just side effects to her type of affection.

But even if the end result is the same, getting there will be incredibly new.

And Spencer is walking away.  
And Ashley knows she is meant to follow.

Ashley would probably follow Spencer Carlin as deep as the woman wants to go.

/

Filing cabniets that have seen better days, filled up with papers that get shredded - empty to full to back again. And the lamp that comes on and does not illuminate anything. Cracked leather couch, not to be trendy but because it is actually ancient, looks like a safe shore in all this tension.

Maybe Ashley is the only one tense, though.  
You get what you ask for, sometimes, and it'll knock you for six.

Maybe Spencer is the only one tense, though.  
You get what you ask for, sometimes, and it'll take your breath away.

"If you are **ever **late again, you won't just be out... you'll be gone."

Still, Spencer is pressed against her like another layer of skin and Spencer's mouth grazes her ear right before teeth bite.  
And Ashley moans like a damn virgin. Which might as well be taken as complete complience.

Because it is.

And Ashley's flesh tastes better than she thought it would. The shiver that runs through the limbs and the rumble of ecstasy from the chest, bouncing into Spencer's senses like a bright red ball on the playground.  
She'll be hauling off soon enough and Ashley better be ready to take her hits.

Just like a good girl should.

And it's a lot of things to a woman who can't stay away from trouble and to a woman who can't help but be at the center of all the drama - it's more than fucking, more than breasts against a bare back as four fingers ram in and out and hips jerk with abandon.  
It's more than a boss showing the green-horn how things are done, rope and a cuff to the jaw, like this is some stupid movie set in the red dust.

It's playing with fire and committing crimes.

It's more. Or less.

But maybe it's both.

**-END-**


End file.
